


Every Photo Tells A Story

by telemachus



Series: Gigolas zoo-verse AU [5]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, House-sitting, M/M, Modern AU, short glimpse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 21:43:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4762067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/pseuds/telemachus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House-sitting tells you a lot about someone. But not everything.</p>
<p>A little piece in the Zoo-verse, just an extra really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Photo Tells A Story

House-sitting is – varied. 

Wherever you are, it’s somewhere someone loves, someone cares about. Someone’s home. But – sometimes it’s a big house, lovely, bit scruffy, because people who have a regular cleaner don’t tend to use house-sitters – sometimes it’s more ordinary, but there are pets to care for – pets who can’t be boarded out easily. Snakes, aquariums full of fish, chickens and goats – that kind of unusual.

Which is fine. A learning experience.

Sometimes it’s not really house-sitting, more – popping in to keep an eye – sometimes it’s even possible to have two or more such on the go, as well as staying somewhere. Which is nice, money-wise.

This time – no.

This is – nearing mansion status, I’d say.

Big, big house.

Grounds, not gardens.

Lawns – plural – a rose-garden – tennis courts – orchard.

Beautifully kept – not by the owner, I think – not my responsibility, the gardener will be in as usual. 

Same inside – the cleaner will be in, three times a week, bit less than usual, but enough to keep it nice, I’m told.

Gosh.

Not totally sure what I’m here for then, to be honest.

No pets – I asked, but the agency laughed, said no, nothing like that. There was a pause, and then she lowered her voice, 

“To be honest, I’m not sure, either. But why turn it down?”

Now I’m here – I can’t help but look about.

Locked room – that’ll be the study. They said he was – well, I won’t use names, but – someone who wouldn’t want his papers touched.

Beautiful sitting room, dining room – acres of space.

Kitchen – and this, this is beautiful, immaculate, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s ever used.

Maybe.

There is, of course, a regular cleaner.

Upstairs – well, I don’t poke around, much as I’d like to, it’s best not. But – I can’t help but half-see into the main room; again, tidied the way a cleaner tidies. The other rooms – well, from looking at the photos on the walls, I’d say I can guess which room was which boy’s. The one that’s painted black, Cure and Smiths posters – that’d be the boy with the frown, the lounger at the back of the teen-photos; Goth I call him in my mind. 

The sporty one – the lad who always has a smile, a broken nose, and usually some kind of ball in hand – his room must be the one full of trophies, certificates on the wall.

And then – the last room – must be the youngest. It’s always the youngest’s room that the cuddly animals gravitate to, and seem to fail to leave. No music posters, no trophies here, just – animals. Pictures from magazines, paintings, photos, some of them talented, some of them cutesy. Little ornaments, a mix of kitsch and charming.

Funny boy.

I’m intrigued enough to start following the photos that cover the walls round, making a sequence.

Yes, the older two – Sporty and Goth – close in age, always together on pictures, tolerating the little one – who spends years clutching a – an elephant by the looks of it – as it becomes more and more ragged. Beyond the age you’d think a boy would still be carrying it, certainly not taking it to the beach, to his brother’s graduation.

By the second graduation, Elephant has gone, but the little one is still holding on tight – this time to the red-head who’s been in so many of the photos, as background. Usually with the little one, lifting, smiling, playing, reassuring. Elder brother has come to the graduation, with girlfriend.

And then the weddings – Goth first, and he’s finally lost the haunted look, allowing himself to smile. By the time Sporty marries, Goth-who-is-no-longer-a-goth has a toddler, a babe in arms and one on the way, by the looks of it. And smiles, more than the groom.

More toddlers come along, but somewhere on the way Sporty loses his wife – or she decides enough’s enough, how would I know?

Red is still there, laughing, always laughing, always happy, always with a smile for the photographer, a hand in support for Animal-boy, and usually at least one grandchild on lap.

Step-grandchild, I realise. 

The boys aren’t Red’s. No resemblance at all.

Father, Mr, only appears in the most formal of photos, rarely smiles.

I shouldn’t be poking around, I know I shouldn’t.

Only – I’m intrigued.

I still can’t see what they need a house-sitter for, with the cleaner coming in, the gardener, the pool-maintenance company. Did I say there is a pool? Indoor – with the sort of wall-to-ceiling folding glass doors that open on a good day to let the garden in – huge. I imagine the boys, and now the little ones, must love it.

There’s a shower-room next to it, and the instructions say use the pool if I want – but the first time I do, I go to the shower-room and – there are two rather – to be honest – ratty-looking dressing gowns on the hooks, and somehow – it feels private. Red and Mr, I suppose.

I don’t use the pool again after that. 

I don’t want to walk wet and chlorine-covered through the house, I don’t feel relaxed enough here, but the shower-room seems – almost like using their bathroom.

I don’t play their CDs – though I notice the mix, and wonder is Mr the opera-buff, or is that Red? Which of them loves classic rock?

I don’t watch their films, again a straight mix of black and white classics, and shoot-em-up actions, but I wonder.

That’s the thing with house-sitting, you never find out.

I’ll never know what happened to the beautiful blonde whose photo I see on the wall of the study when the cleaner is hoovering.

She must be the mother of the boys, they all have a look of her.

Not divorced, surely, or the picture would be gone.

Dead perhaps?

I wonder how Red feels that her picture is still opposite the desk, right where Mr can look up and gaze into her eyes.

I’ll never know.

Never meet Red.

Never ask what it was he was lifting Animal-boy down from that made Animal-boy laugh, and smile, and reach out, like a child in a posed photo for a catalogue; what the joke was that they were sharing on the beach that day; what Sporty had won the day the two of them stood in the mud as he held the cup high, and laughed; or what Goth was playing on his guitar – the guitar that’s still in his room – at some school concert, Red with Animal-boy on his knee, clapping proudly.

But there’s one photo – just one – of Red and Mr, dancing, it looks like a waltz, eyes only for each other, Red smiling that heart-breaking smile, Mr looking less haunted than on the other pictures. Recent enough not to have been framed or hung.

“Wedding,” the cleaner tells me, when she sees me looking, “finally. On honeymoon now – first time they’ve been away so long – first time Mr’s been away from work so long since the first time round I reckon – that’s why you’re here.”

I must look puzzled, because she explains,

“He didn’t like leaving the house – worries now he’s getting on a bit – but he knew he owed Red a proper celebration. He’s waited long enough. So – compromise, see?”

Yes.

Because perhaps that's what house-sitting is all about, really.

Buying peace of mind.

**Author's Note:**

> .
> 
>  
> 
> In case anyone is worried, I am sure Thranduil - and Caradhil - have plenty of photos of Legolas' wedding, and his adopted children. The house-sitter just didn't tell us about them. Not sure why.....(perhaps they didn't recognise them as a wedding, with two grooms?)


End file.
